


Across the Stars

by the_problem_with_stardust



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Jedi!AU, M/M, Outer Space, POV Derek, POV Stiles, general Kate warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-12-11 16:04:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11717751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: “Please, Scotty!” Stiles begged. “These feet have never been on dirt that wasn’t already on Beacon.”Scott heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. Let’s go touch some other planet’s dirt.”A Jedi AUEDIT 9/30/2018: CHAPTERS 1 AND 2 ARE BEING EDITED, CHAPTER THREE TO COME SOON!





	1. From Beacon to Coruscant

**Author's Note:**

> General disclaimer: I don’t own anything, but please, please, please don’t post my work anywhere without my permission.
> 
> No beta, so if you see anything glaringly wrong feel free to drop me a note in the comments. (I also wrote most of this on my phone, so if the formatting's weird let me know.)

The day Stiles’ life changed started out the same as any other. He spent the morning running errands for the town’s healer – who also happened to be his step-mom – then tinkered with his beloved Roscoe until first moonrise. The ancient speeder was held together with Stiles’ rough patch jobs and the will of the Force, because getting parts so far away from any of the Republic’s epicenters was nearly impossible. Stiles spent a lot of time fabricating substitutes and, as a result, was sought after by people with mechanical troubles from all over the planet.

Scott, Melissa, and his dad were already home by the time Stiles scrubbed the grease off his hands for supper. Scott and John were cooking and a holo projector was sitting in the center of the table.

“What’s this?” Stiles picked the projector up, already thinking about ways to reuse the parts. Any Republic tech was hard to get ahold of out in the Rim and the shiny new thing was just begging to be scavenged. One of the families a few blocks from them had a droid with a chip acting up and the battery would be an excellent upgrade for his dad’s cobbled-together communicator.

Melissa pulled the projector from his hands before he could flip the wiring panel off. “Don’t you think we should see the message before you dissect the thing?”

Stiles grinned at the fondness in her tone. “Sorry, Mel.”

She reached up to rub at a stubborn streak on his face, frowning when it refused to fade. Licking her thumb, she moved to rub at it again. It used to be motherly gestures like that made Stiles' heart ache for his mom. Now, it just sent him ducking away to the other side of the room, laughing all the while.

“Food!” Scott announced from the doorway, hefting a tray laden with four instant meals and whatever dried fruit they had left from last autumn. This time, it looked like the kitchen had escaped unharmed. Even the packaged stuff could become hazardous when Scott and John cooked.

Stiles poked at the reconstituted beef and vegetables with suspicion. As awful as it was, these kinds of meals were the only food available once the winter stores ran out. But soon, there would be a new harvest and the shit from a bag would all fade into a bad memory. At least this year wasn’t as bad as the winter with nothing but nutrition bars.

“Who sent this?” John picked up the holo projector, eyeing it with the same calculating expression as his son.

Melissa sighed. “You’ll have to watch it to find out.”

“Might be work.” Stiles’ dad was originally from the Core, stationed on Beacon as a police official. Occasionally he received intel from headquarters.

He clicked the projector on and a translucent blue man dressed in the robes of a Jedi knight appeared on the table.

_“Greetings, Scott McCall of Beacon. The Jedi council has become aware of a threat to the Republic that can only be defeated with your assistance. Although it is highly unorthodox for someone of your age to begin training as a Jedi, the council has reached the decision to allow you a position in one of our temples. If you choose to pursue this future, come to Coruscant and ask after Master Alan Deaton. May the Force be with you.”_

The projection flickered out.

After a moment of stunned silence, Stiles reached for the projector, turning it over in his hands. “Jedi can see the future?” Everything else the force-wielders could do sounded implausible; why not add premonition to the list.

John scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, Claudia explained it more as having dreams and visions of possible outcomes. It’s impossible to say what may come to pass because so many factors go into creating each scenario.”

Stiles sat back, shocked. It was the most his father had mentioned his mother in years. He was simultaneously elated and reeling at the new information.

“But there is a future where me going to Coruscant saves the galaxy.” Scott broke the uncomfortable pause. “I think even the possibility of helping is a good enough reason to try.”

Classic Scott, always trying to do the right thing. If it were up to Stiles, he’d probably let the Republic fall. It wasn’t like it would affect their family. Except maybe his dad’s measly paychecks would stop coming.

“Absolutely not.” Melissa set down her fork, voice hard.

“I knew Deaton, back when I lived in the Core.” John said. “He is a good man.”

“Mom…” Scott started to protest, but Melissa ignored him.

“I don’t want him going alone. Getting out of the Rim is dangerous.”

“I’ll go with him”

All three pairs of eyes turned to Stiles.

“Please, Dad. Scotty’ll need someone to carry his bags.” Or maybe Jedi had assistants who ran errands for them. Stiles could finally put all of the research he did on the different languages and cultures of the galaxy to use.

The Sheriff looks at Melissa. “He’s handy with a blaster.”

“I’ll think about it.”

***

“Remember to behave yourself, young man.”

“What?” Stiles did his best to look innocent, “I’m just going along to keep Scott in line.”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “I know Scott wasn’t the mastermind behind any of your rabble rousing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Her face softened, and Stiles hugged her tight. He must have gotten something in his eye because suddenly everything looked a little blurry.

“Love you Mel.”

Scott and John joined them, luggage in tow.

John set a hand on each of his sons’ shoulders. “Try not to go looking for trouble, you two.”

Stiles grinned. “We never go looking for trouble.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” John said.

Losing the joking tone, Stiles pulled his dad in for a hug. “Love you.”

“Take care of yourself, Stiles.” John stepped back, slinging an arm over Melissa’s shoulders.

Stiles followed Scott up the ramp into the ship, turning at the top to wave one last time at their parents. There were no legitimate ships on Beacon; however the _Zephyr_ and its crew were the least shady of the lot. The captain dealt mainly in smuggled food and some breeds of livestock. For the Outer Rim, such trade was almost reputable.

Unfortunately, reputable didn’t pay well enough for regular upkeep. That much was evident in the corrosion bleeding across the cheap metal paneling and the acrid stink of fried circuits heavy in the air. Stiles was impressed the _Zephyr_ could even lift off the ground, let alone break free of Beacon’s gravitational pull.

“Home sweet home.” Scott threw his pack on the next bunk. Stiles hummed, not looking up from the tangled mess of wires spread across his mattress.

“Seriously? You couldn’t even wait to leave the planet before you started taking the ship apart?”

Stiles glowered over the set of pliers dangling from his teeth. He was just ensuring the lights didn’t electrocute them both in their sleep.

***

“Please, Scotty!” Stiles begged. “These feet have never been on dirt that wasn’t already on Beacon.”

Scott heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. Let’s go touch some other planet’s dirt.”

With a victorious shout, Stiles sprints from their quarters and down the loading ramp. The crunch of ice beneath his boots was a little unexpected, but it was a new planet. A new planet that was very, very cold. Beacon’s mild climate had not prepared him for this.

Stiles was still enthralled by the frigid air burning his lungs and the barely recognizable constellations decorating the dark red sky when Scott caught up to him. “Something’s wrong.”

There were three ships currently on the field. The crew from the largest ship looked like they were moving in on the ship from Beacon. Which was not a good sign. Most Outer Rim planets were lawless places that operated under the leadership of rival crime lords.

“Do you need anything off the ship?” Stiles had his blaster (and his back-up blaster) but getting pulled into a shoot-out over smuggled goods was not how he planned on ending his day.

“I’m good, you?”

Stiles patted his backpack. “Yup. Let’s get out of here.”

They sprinted for the third ship, which was already prepping for take-off. Stiles launched himself toward the closing doors, dragging a panting Scott with him.

“What in the name of the Force do you think you’re doing?” a crew member shouted.

Before Stiles could even try to come up with an excuse for stowing away in their cargo hold, a massive shockwave rocked the ship. The crew member turned toward the front of the ship, shouting at someone to get a move on. The rumble of the thrusters had them lifting off the ground, but not before Stiles caught sight of the _Zephyr_ ’s burning wreckage.

“Kriff,” he breathed.

Scott followed his line of sight and made a worried sound. “I hope everyone got off in time.”

The door to the cockpit slid open. Scott and Stiles whipped around, tearing their eyes from the window.

“So these are our stowaways,” the newcomer said. Stiles felt a shiver slip down his spine under her calculating gaze. “The captain wishes to see you.”

The woman marched them through the ship, which was in much better condition than the _Zephyr_ , before its untimely demise. But, Stiles still picked out a hiccup in hyperdrive as they made the jump to lightspeed.

They drew to a halt in front of the captain’s chair and the man seated there leaned forward, expression unreadable behind his dark glasses. “I see you have already met Kali, my second.”

Stiles glanced over at the woman who led them there. There were three other crew members he could see from his position, which did not bode well for him and Scott making an escape anytime soon.

“We’d like your permission to remain on board as passengers.” He slid a months’ worth of pay out of his pack. It probably wasn’t enough to tempt a smuggler, but maybe he and Scott looked pathetic enough to earn some pity.

One of the crew members scoffed at the small pile of credits. “It’ll take more than that to convince us not to jettison you both off into space.”

Stiles kept his face blank. The transaction was definitely not going the way he wanted. Then he remembered the jolt he felt when the ship jumped to lightspeed. “I can fix your hyperdrive.”

The captain took a moment to size them up. “Where are you boys headed?”

“Coruscant.”

“I’m sure my crew could find some trade to do there.” The man stood up. “Kali will continue to keep an eye on you.”

The woman escorted them to the cargo hold. “Stay here. Deucalion will fetch you when he wants you to work on the ship.”

As an afterthought, she tossed some ration bars into the hold before closing the door. Scott scooped them up to add to their stash.

“This could be worse.” He looked around the cargo hold with interest.

If Stiles had to guess, their new crewmates were probably drug smugglers at best. He thought back to Kali. Mercenaries would make sense too.

Scott wandered off and Stiles pulled the holo projector that had started this whole mess out of his pocket. After making a few modifications, he managed to record a holo video with a half-assed explanation and sent it to their message board at home. He could already imagine his dad and Melissa shaking their heads in disbelief. So what if he and Scotty tried to behave? Trouble always managed to find them anyway.

***

Although Stiles had read about Coruscant in books, they didn’t do it justice. The city engulfed the entire planet and the result was utterly mind blowing. The lights sparkled below them and buildings taller than Stiles could ever imagine stretch skyward. It made him miss the forests of Beacon.

The captain landed in one of the less brightly lit areas, probably some sort of slum. Stiles silently signaled Scott. As soon as the cargo bay doors started to open, they were off and running. Years of creeping around the heavily forested areas surrounding their home had trained them both on stealth, but the shadows of buildings and the scuff of concrete was nothing like the woods.

They didn’t get far before there was a commotion behind them. Stiles looked back at Scott who hissed, “Run!”

In the end, their escape attempt was futile. They didn’t know the streets and were herded into a dead end, like cattle in a box canyon. Stiles looked up at the tall buildings and cursed. Even if he could climb to the nearest window, Scott wouldn’t make it. His breathing was already echoing harshly off of the walls.

Defeated, Stiles turned back to face their pursuers, arms raised in surrender. Scott followed his lead, allowing the officers to cuff them both and take their packs.

The man in charge watched the interaction with a curious expression. He spoke into a fancy-looking communications device, the ordered the officers escort their prisoners back to base. Stiles relaxed a little at the familiarity; law enforcement was his dad’s line of work after all.

It took a while for someone to come check on them. Stiles wasn’t impressed. Really, they should have split the two of them up. If he and Scott were actual criminals, they could have had their story all ironed out by the time the interrogation officer showed up.

When she finally arrived, with a guard following close behind, Stiles was unraveling a loose thread from his sleeve and Scott had his gaze fixed on the ceiling, like he was trying to sleep with his eyes open. The woman sighed. “Sit up. You two are being held as smugglers.”

Scott scrambled to straighten in his seat, cuffs clinking against the metal table. Stiles took his time.

The interrogation officer stared them down for a moment, “You came in on the _Demon Wolf_ , which is known for being one of the most notorious drug smuggling ships in the galaxy.”

Stiles scoffed. What kind of name was that? And also, he was right. They were totally drug smugglers.

“Well? Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”

Scott looked at Stiles, which reminded him that he was supposed to be the talker. He settled on telling her the truth. “We’re from the planet Beacon, in the Outer Rim. A few days ago we received an urgent message asking us to come to Coruscant.”

“And you chose to join up with the crew of the _Demon Wolf_?” The woman raised an eyebrow.

“We started out on the _Zephyr_ , but it was attacked. The _Demon Wolf_ ,” Stiles couldn’t hide the judgement in his tone, “was the only available ship.”

The interrogation officer tapped something into her data pad. “The _Zephyr_ was a known smuggler too.”

Stiles huffed. “Every ship in the Outer Rim is a smuggler’s ship. The Republic doesn’t exist there.”

“Plus, the other ship exploded. We didn’t really have time to make a choice,” Scott added.

The interrogation officer set down her data pad and crossed her arms. “Okay,” she said. “Say I believe you. What is your urgent reason for coming to Coruscant?”

Stiles darted a look at Scott, who nodded his consent. “Scott was summoned by the Jedi Council.”

The guard standing by the door snorted, then clumsily tried to cover the noise with a cough.

Scott bristled. “Go ahead and bring Master Deaton here. He’ll verify our story.”

Recognition crossed the interrogation officer’s face and she jumped to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”

Stiles went back to picking at the loose thread and Scott slouched back down in his seat. When the door opened again, their arresting officer entered the room. He sat across from them, setting down a data pad with Stiles’ file displayed on it.

“Good afternoon, Mr. McCall, Mr. Stilinski,” he said politely. “I’m Jordan Parrish and I am in charge here.”

He gestured down at the data pad. “Mr. Stilinski, it says you are the son of Claudia Czajkowski.”

Stiles swallowed thickly and nodded.

Jordan pulled the keys to the cuffs out of his pocket. “I will personally see that Master Deaton is brought in to corroborate your story.”

***

Derek was meditating when one of the younger padawans tapped at the door.

“Master Hale?”

He took a moment to come back to himself. It had only been a matter of weeks that he had held the title of Master Jedi and the memory of the trials was still fresh.

When he opened his eyes, he was met with the sight of a tiny Togruta girl carrying herself as if she had come to deliver the Treaty of Coruscant itself. “Yes, young one?”

“Master Deaton wishes to speak with you,” she said, beaming as she completed her task.

The look reminded him so much of Cora, Derek had to fight to center himself again. He nodded at the padawan and used the Force to locate Deaton in the complex, eventually falling into step with his former master.

Deaton always took his time to explain his summons, so Derek waited. It was one of the older Jedi’s mannerisms that drove him insane at first. Now Derek knew he only spoke when his was ready.

“One of the prisons in the lower district is holding prisoners. They say one is Mr. McCall.”

Jedi didn’t scoff, so Derek refrained. But still, that was not exactly a great impression. They continued walking. From their trajectory, Derek guessed they were heading to the hangar to borrow a hovercraft.

“You have done well, Derek.”

The praise was a little unexpected, but Derek just dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Master.”

Deaton located his personal hovercraft and waited until Derek was seated, before adding, “I believe you are ready to take on your own apprentice.”

Derek didn’t like where this train of thought was going, but he kept it to himself. “You honor me, Master.”

Without pursuing the topic further, Deaton guided the hovercraft to the prison where the hope for the Republic’s survival was currently locked up. The guards fell over themselves to let the Jedi in. Derek cringed a little at the smell of the place. Having more developed senses that the average person wasn’t always an asset.

There were two young men in the waiting area. One was engaged in a heated argument with an officer about some Republic policy. He spoke with his entire body, hands punctuating the forcefulness of his words. The other young man was half sprawled across the table, his head cradled in his arms, like he couldn’t believe he was being subjected to this.

All of a sudden, the room fell silent. The argumentative one noticed the newcomers. He nudges his companion and the two of them stood. The officer excused himself.

“Mr. McCall,” Deaton said. “And a friend?”

The quiet one answered, “I’m Scott and this is my brother, Stiles.”

Derek could feel the distrust radiating from Stiles. Part of him wanted to know how the two of them ended up in the most disreputable area of Coruscant and how they managed to not only avoid arrest, but also get someone to contact the Order. But the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Deaton said: _everything will be revealed in time_.

As the four of them made to exit the prison, Stiles spotted the officer he argued with. “We aren’t done, you and I.”

The officer laughed and handed him his contact information. “Put in a good word with the Sheriff for me?”

Stiles agreed easily, but his countenance turned sour once he returned to the group.

The four of them piled into Deaton's hovercraft with the two brothers squeezed into the backseat. Silently, they returned to the temple, which was not a traditional place to train padawans. But according to his research, Scott McCall was eighteen. Therefore he was not really a youngling anymore.

Once they made to disembark the craft, Deaton spoke. "Mr. McCall, you are a crucial part of the future of the republic. You will bring balance to the Force and eventually save the galaxy."

Stiles looked like he was barely refraining from rolling his eyes. It took all of Derek's willpower not to reprimand him for his blatant disrespect.

Deaton seemed to sense Stiles' disbelief because his next words were directed at him rather than Scott. "Several others have had similar premonitions. It is the only reason we agreed to take Mr. McCall on, even though he is eighteen and far too old."

The young man opened his mouth to argue, just as they were entering the temple. Judging by the way he froze, awestruck by the vaulted ceilings and towering columns, he and his brother had never seen anything so grand. Derek couldn’t imagine living on such a backwater planet that he would be struck speechless by an entryway. But then again, he was still trying to figure out how a kid from the Outer Rim was supposed to save the galaxy.

Deaton cleared his throat, startling the two young men out of their gaping. "Mr. McCall will be shown to his rooms now."

The same padawan who fetched Derek earlier in the day led Scott from the room.

"Now, Stiles." Deaton turned to the other brother. "You need to understand that if your brother is going to become a Jedi, he needs to adhere to our code."

Stiles laughed, the sound echoing off of the stone walls. "Is this where you tell me that Jedi can't form attachments?"

Derek was impressed someone so far removed from the Core knew even that much about the Jedi code. Deaton's face remained unchanged, but Derek knows his former master is starting to get irritated.

"It is in your brother's best interests that you return home."

Derek suspected Deaton was using some form of Force persuasion to make the young man go away.

Instead of agreeing, the kid laughed again. "Those tricks won't work on me," he said. "And don't lecture me on your code. I'm willing to bet I know it better than some of your knights."

Deaton actually looked surprised for a moment, before his expression slipped back to neutral.

Stiles looked from Derek to Deaton. "I will be close by and I expect Scott to stay in touch. If not, I have no problem with being arrested again." And with that he stalked out the massive doors and into the chaos of the city beyond.

Derek stared after him in shock. In his time with the Order, no one had so brazenly threatened not one, but _two_ , Jedi masters. He made a mental note to look up a Stiles McCall in their records because he certainly sounded like he meant all of his threats. Someone willing to go against the Jedi Order was someone to be watched.

***

The first words out of Scott's mouth when he spotted Derek at supper were, "Where is Stiles?"

Derek blinked at the demand. Whatever happened to manners?

"Your brother went to find other accommodations in the city," Deaton said smoothly. "He isn't a Jedi and therefore shouldn’t stay here."

Scott frowned, but didn’t argue. He prodded at the food on his plate. Derek wondered if he even knew what half of it was, since almost everything was native to the surrounding planets. He felt a sliver of pity for the kid, but squashed it immediately.

After picking at an orange substance, Scott set down his knife. "When will training start?"

Deaton didn’t look up from his plate. "That is something you should discuss with your Master."

“What.” Derek dropped his utensils and glares.

“I told you before. I think you are ready to take on your own apprentice." His former master smiled serenely. "Mr. McCall needs an instructor.”

After almost sixteen years of acquaintance, Derek knew better than to argue with Deaton once he'd made up his mind. Scott was still watching him with uncertainty so he schooled his features into something resembling a calm facade.

He couldn’t remember introducing himself, so he said, "I don't think we've formally met. My name is Derek Hale."

Deaton cleared his throat. "He should address you as Master Hale."

"Right," Derek sighed. All he wanted to do was work in the archives. Not teach some kid how to meditate. "We'll meet at dawn in one of the training rooms."

Scott looked like he was going to ask more questions, so Derek got to his feet. "Someone will fetch you for breakfast."

And he left the room with his new padawan staring after him.


	2. Master and Apprentice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, 'kriff' is the Star Wars version of 'fuck'

Stiles came to with spotty vision and the overwhelming feeling of being crushed. He groaned and took a moment to thank the Force for the Mandalorian suit of armor he won off of some idiot in a card game. The rubble around him shifted as he moved. Getting buried alive was definitely not something he ever wanted to experience but here he was, underneath a building.

Pushing half-heartedly at a beam that was too heavy to lift, Stiles had enough time to wonder how the hell he ended up here. The week had started innocently enough. He finished his argument with Jordan at a pub in a better part of town and even gave him the contact information for his dad since he seemed interested in transferring to the Outer Rim.

Then, Scott managed to give his Jedi keepers the slip and found Stiles at the skeevy hostel he’d holed up in. Apparently Deaton pawned him off on his hot and grumpy side-kick. _Master Hale_ , as Scott kept correcting him. They were going off world for a bit so Scott could find his kyber crystal and start building a lightsaber.

Stiles huffed a breath at the memory, the inside of his helmet fogging in the weak light. Hopefully, Scott was enjoying the ice planet of Ilum. It only took them being separated by half the galaxy for Stiles to realize that Scott was taking all of Stiles’ self-control with him.

He froze at the sound of voices. A trickle of dust filtered through the crack in the rubble above him and Stiles held his breath. Kriff. This was not good.

Somehow, a week of wreaking havoc and getting trashed on alien liquor turned into him trying to single-handedly take down a drug ring. He started off hitchhiking across the planet and meeting all kinds of people that didn’t frequent a remote planet like Beacon. It was awesome to finally practice his language skills with someone other than a droid. Luckily, he only started one bar brawl by using the wrong inflection on the wrong word.

But then he caught wind of Deucalion causing trouble in the lower district and started asking questions. Somebody in a rival clan got suspicious, dragging him right off of his barstool and out the door. Stiles probably could have beaten them alone, but they called in backup and Stiles couldn’t take on twenty massive alien dudes. So he did the most logical thing and blew up a crumbling warehouse as a distraction.

Which was why he was now buried by a building.

He winced at the sound of digging. Maybe if he played dead for long enough they’d give up. It took way too long for him to realize the voices sounded human. He was going to blame his sluggish thinking on head trauma.

“There!”

Suddenly, the steel beam was no longer pinning him in place. His lungs screamed in relief.

“Do you think they’re alive?” a second voice asked.

“One way to find out.”

There was a thump and a pair of boots entered Stiles’ vision. He only had a second to think about the playing dead idea before the person was kneeling by his head.

“Hey.” The voice was surprisingly gentle for such a large man. Stiles relaxed. “Try not to move too much. You’ve had a bit of a rough day.”

Stiles wanted to laugh at that, but it didn’t come out. A smaller thump from the other side preceded something tapping against his suit.

After a moment, the other person spoke. “According to the med-scan, there’s nothing broken. They’ve got a mild concussion though.”

The man nodded. “Do you think you can stand?”

 Stiles took a deep breath and tried to sit up. Hands immediately came up to support him. “Easy does it.”

With the man’s help, Stiles got his feet under him. The other voice belonged to a woman with long blonde hair. She was watching them – well, watching _Stiles_ – with suspicion. “Do you think they’re bad news?” she asked.

“I can speak for myself.” His voice sounded weird, but it worked. He reached up to tug his helmet free, blinking in the bright light. “The people I was running from were drug smugglers.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “And you decided to take on a dozen of them? Are you kriffin’ crazy?”

Stiles just grinned. “Now they think I’m dead. I should be safe for a bit.”

“You set off the blast?” The man asked from where he was still supporting most of Stiles’ weight.

Which reminded him. “I sacrificed my new communicator.” Kriff. And he’d just gotten the setting the way he liked.

“You built a weapon out of a communicator?” The woman sounded impressed.

“And some other bits and pieces.” He patted at the utility belt strapped over his armor.

She exchanged a calculating look with the man. “Do you only use that knowledge for building explosives or can you fix things too?”

“I’ve done some work with droids and speeders.”

“I don’t know your name, but I’m Erica and this is Boyd. You’re hired.”

Stiles blinked several times before shaking the hand Erica stuck in front of his face.

                                                                           ***

After three days of working at Boyd’s Salvage and Repair, Stiles received a message from Scott. It was blurry and rushed, so he felt like Master Hale probably didn’t know or approve. Stiles sighed and hit replay. No wonder his mother left the Order.

“Hey, man. I found my crystal. It wasn’t nearly as exciting as you thought it would be. Mostly meditating and waiting until I could feel it ‘calling to me.’” Scott snorted at his own use of air quotes. “You would’ve hated it.” He looked over his shoulder. “Gotta go. Miss you.”

Stiles set the holo projector aside. He’d improved it so he could continue to send messages to Beacon. He was about 73% certain that they actually got there.

There was a crash followed by the sound of Erica swearing. The only bad thing about taking up Boyd’s offer of living accommodations was the fact that the spare room was located right next to the office. Stiles was pretty sure it used to be a storage closet, but so far he only had the contents of his backpack and the random shit he’d picked up on his travels.

The shelf under the window was filled with weird rocks, a handful of cone shaped shells unlike anything he’d ever seen, some com devices he scavenged, and random bits and pieces of wiring and hardware. It wasn’t home yet, but it was nice. He and Erica got along great, bantering back and forth while Boyd rolled his eyes at their antics. Stiles actually was starting to look forward to going to work.

He stayed huddled under his blankets for a few moments longer, then got an idea. He grabbed the projector with a wicked grin and recorded a message for Scott.

***

They’d returned from Ilum only the night before. At breakfast, Scott had mentioned knowing a place where he could build his lightsaber. After spending a week and a half cooped up on a ship, waiting for his padawan to find his crystal, Derek was more than ready to leave the temple.

Derek took a moment to stare at the small mechanics shop in front of him. He had no idea how Scott even knew of its existence. But he didn’t have to wonder for long.

“Scotty!” Stiles flung himself onto his brother and Scott returned the hug, just as fierce. Derek had to look away, ignoring how his heart stuttered at the memory of his sisters. Laura was almost ready for her trials when she died.

And then Stiles was in motion again, holding out a hand for Scott’s bag. “How was the ice planet?”

“Cold.”

Stiles laughed. “I met this guy from Hoth. I didn’t know anyone even lived on Hoth. He didn’t say much though.”

“Did you even let him talk?” A woman stepped out from behind one of the broken down ships, wiping her hands on a greasy cloth.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Ha. Ha. Ha. Seriously, keep the jokes coming.”

Scott turned to the woman and flashed her a charming smile. “I’m Scott McCall. Let me apologize for my brother.”

She smirked. “I’ve heard all about you, hon. And Stiles is okay once he stops destroying buildings.”

“Damnit Erica! That was supposed to be our secret.”

“I think if you wanted to keep it a secret, you shouldn’t have blown anything up in the first place,” a man said from the office doorway, his voice mild. He turned to Derek. “I’m Boyd. This is my wife Erica, and you already seem to know my newest mechanic.”

Derek nodded at the man, then watched as Stiles dumped the contents of Scott’s bag onto one of the work benches. The kyber crystal shone bright among the dirty tools scattered across the surface. Once again, Derek was shocked by the McCalls’ irreverence.

Stiles hums thoughtfully, then started unearthing pieces and parts that he had squirreled away throughout the shop. He set the pile alongside the softly glowing crystal and grinned. “Have at it, man.”

Scott clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, bro.”

Then it was silent. Derek was almost surprised. Not that he spent time thinking about whether or not Stiles McCall was mouthy all the time. Because that would be weird. And a violation of some Jedi teaching probably. So Derek retreated to the shadows, keeping tabs on Boyd in the office, arguing with a supplier, and Erica, who had the galaxy’s filthiest mouth.

Stiles was up to his elbows in a navigation system from one of the older model ships nearby, entirely focused on the internal components. The whole thing looked like it was violently torn out of place, wires sticking out every which way. But Stiles just kept reaching for tools, a spanner or screwdriver in his mouth at all times.

After an hour or so, Erica crawled out from underneath another ship’s floor panels to lean over Stiles’ shoulder. She hummed appreciatively at what she saw. “This is incredible. Where were you trained?”

“Where I’m from, there is no training.” Stiles set down the bit of wire he was trying to unkink.

Erica’s eyebrows shot up. “Then how did you get so good?”

“He has this ancient speeder that should have been scrapped years ago, but somehow he keeps it running.” Scott leaned against the workbench, the skeleton of a lightsaber assembled behind him.

“Scott, don’t you dare insult Roscoe.”

Scott just sighed. “He named the speeder Roscoe.”

Erica ignored their gentle ribbing. “How did you get so good then?”

“We don’t get new parts in the Rim. If you want something repaired, you have to do it from scratch.” Stiles shrugged. “It’s all about creativity.”

Scott shook his head. “Our oven talks because he used parts from an old battle droid.”

“You just don’t like that it insults your cooking.”

“Droids don’t even have taste buds.” Scott grumbled, sending Stiles and Erica into fits of giggles.  

***

Derek was impressed by how quickly Scott improved over the next couple of weeks. His focus and control were so much better, now that he knew Derek wasn’t going to make him stop seeing his brother. Every few days, they trained at the mechanics shop and Scott spent the rest of the time doing what Derek asked him too.

He made friends with his roommate, who had just undergone the trials and became Master Lahey. Isaac was one of Derek’s training partners and they still sparred often. He was more than willing to help teach Scott how to use his lightsaber, now that it was built up to Stiles’ strict standards.

But all of the traveling between the mechanics shop and the temples did have some draw backs. Derek’s communicator went missing. He figured it was left behind somewhere. Not that it mattered because the thing glitched so much it was hardly functional. He sighed and added it to his mental list of things to deal with later.

Today the agenda didn’t include a trip to the mechanics shop. No, today Scott was going to accompany Derek on one of his diplomatic missions. Nothing off planet because he was still new, but learning how to keep the balance was important for any Force wielder.

They landed in a nearby airfield, ready to mediate a disagreement over cargo. Derek almost turned around and walked back to the hovercraft when he saw Chris Argent standing beside the ship, arguing with the owner of the airstrip. But Jedi were not entitled to personal grudges, so Derek squared his shoulders and approached.

“Good morning gentlemen.” Derek kept his body language open, non-confrontational. Chris’ eyes widened in recognition.

Before he could say anything, the owner scoffed. “Oh good. They sent the Jedi.”

Derek could feel Scott’s confusion. He didn’t have time to explain that not all people believed in the Jedi policy of staying above arguments. A policy that he might not be able to uphold because there were Argents involved.

“We are here to listen to your grievance, sir,” Scott said, shaking Derek out of his thoughts.

The man just rolled his eyes. “Not even a real Jedi. A padawan.”

Derek sighed. “I assume your issue is with Argent’s cargo.”

“I don’t want weapons on my airfield. If his ship blows up, so do all of my other customers. Arms dealers are bad for business.”

A woman dressed in a flight suit hopped down from the cargo bay. “Nothing is going to blow up.”

“Allison,” Chris said, the warning in his voice clear. “I told you to stay in the ship.”

She ignored him, coming to stand in front of Derek. “Master Jedi. My name is Allison Argent and I am the pilot of this ship. This airfield has no regulations against cargo, therefore we cannot be refused a landing zone based on these complaints.”

Derek wanted to curse at the galaxy. Instead, he nodded along with her words. “Everything she says is true. If you want them off of your landing strip, you need to change your regulations.”

The owner cursed the Jedi, the Force, the galaxy in general, but Derek wasn’t paying attention. He met Chris’ eyes, flinching when the man looked like he was going to speak.

“If that is all, we will take our leave.”

Allison nodded. “Thank you, Master Jedi.” She flicked her gaze over to Scott and smiled shyly.

Derek all but dragged his padawan off the airfield and back to the temple.

“Did you see the pilot? She was so brave,” Scott said as he settled in for his afternoon meditation.

The love-sick note in his voice set off all of Derek’s alarm bells. “You can’t go back there.”

Scott frowned. “Why not?”

“What you feel for her isn’t allowed.” He didn’t mention that loving anyone – but _especially_ loving an Argent – was dangerous.

They’re interrupted by the arrival of Master Deaton. Derek felt the familiar sense of shame. He wasn’t behaving like a Jedi master should.

Deaton just stepped between them, his back to Derek. “Mr. McCall. It is in the best interest of the Republic that you keep your mind free from the disordered nature of attachment.”

Scott looked like he was ready to punch something. “The Republic can burn for all I care.” He stormed out of the room, door slamming with the force of his anger.

Derek stared at the door for a long time. He knew it wasn’t true. Scott would come back after he’d cooled down. Maybe he would request to train with someone else, but he cared too much to walk away.

It took Deaton’s light cough to remind Derek that he wasn’t alone in the room. He looked up at his former master. “I am sorry. I let my emotions get the better of me.”

“You’ve never been able to control them around the Argents.”

This was probably some sort of test. One that he failed spectacularly. Derek refrained from rubbing a hand over his face, but _kriff_ he was so sick of being treated like a youngling.

 “He will learn,” Deaton said, intelligent eyes stripping Derek bare. “As you did.”

***

“Master Hale.” Stiles stalked into the room where Derek was meditating. His voice was frigid, but Derek can sense a fight coming.

“Mr. McCall.” What the hell did he want? Derek didn’t like the way his fingers twitched by his side, where his blaster was holstered. He shifted into a fighting stance.

“I don’t know what you did to Scott, but I am here to lay down some ground rules.”

The amount of anger rolling off of the other man was impressive. Derek took a breath and used the Force to close the door. This was going to get nasty. He just wished he didn’t feel so raw from his fight with Scott and his conversation with Deaton.

“Jedi are not supposed to form attachments,” Derek started, repeating the words he’d heard over and over since he was a youngling.

“You want to condemn my brother to a lifetime of being alone? To never have feelings ever again?” Stiles was close enough, Derek could see his individual eyelashes. “Humans don’t work like that!”

It took substantial effort to tear his gaze away from Stiles’ flashing eyes. But Derek knew he wouldn’t be able to look at him when he said, “Darth Enmity,” so quietly it was almost drowned out by Stiles’ harsh breathing.

Stiles froze, his feet the only part of him in Derek’s line of sight. He focused on the bizarre pattern of the floor’s wood grain before continuing.

“I knew her as Kate Argent. A fellow padawan. A friend…” he paused, wondering how to even classify his relationship with the Sith Lord. “…and something more.”

He tried not to let the memories overwhelm him. They’d been buried deep for the past five years and it hurt to have them dragged back to the surface. Derek hadn’t told anyone about his family. Ever. Not even Deaton, though he’d pieced the story together after.

When he risked a glance at Stiles’ face, he looked sick. Apparently even the Outer Rim had heard the story. “You’re _Derek Hale_. From Lycan. The last member of the Hale pack.”

Derek just nodded. He had no idea why he trusted this man, but there was a gut feeling that revealing this piece of his past was the right thing to do.

He started at the tap against his wrist. When he didn’t move, Stiles reached up and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault, Derek. You don’t have to punish yourself for what she did.”

Derek didn’t say anything; he simply stood there and soaked in the warmth of Stiles’ touch. After a moment, Stiles dropped his arm and reached into his pocket. He pressed the missing communicator into his hand and Derek was willing to bet the glitch had been fixed.

Stiles took a deep breath, then said, “Mieczysław Stilinski.”

Derek blinked in confusion.

“The reason you aren’t finding anything in the databases about ‘Stiles McCall’ is because it isn’t my name.”

“You aren’t Scott’s brother?”

“I am in every way that matters.”

Derek nodded. From what he’d seen, it was the truth. “May the Force be with you, Mr. Stilinski.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello on [tumblr!](https://theproblemwithstardust.tumblr.com)
> 
> (also, there is an [edit](https://theproblemwithstardust.tumblr.com/post/167169656520/across-the-stars-please-scotty-stiles-begged) if you wanna check that out)


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